Our guest writer today is Archibald P. Thomas, born in Andover, Massachusetts in 1662, and subsequently lost in time. To make it easier on our readers, we've cleaned up some of the archaic language.
My dearest Prudence,
I hope this letter finds you well. The 21st century is beyond perplexing. Everyone has straight white teeth and no one wears hats. The streets are awash with harlots. Some of their frocks are so short that one can see their bare knees. Others walk around wearing pantaloons and cut their hair like a man's. It's a troubling world, dearest Prudence.
I've tried to figure out what makes these women so. Witchcraft, you say? You are so right, dearest Prudence! For every morning at 11 o'clock the women of the 21st century sit under a spell of a coven of evil, hideous witches.
There is a gruesome old witch who talks with a lisp. An African one straight out of stories you used to scare our young Thomas. A young one who seems charming at first, but I know better, my dearest Prudence! Her witchcraft has no hold over me! I see behind the buoyant exterior and into her macabre soul!
But the most frightening of all, dearest Prudence, is the red-haired witch. She is so ugly that one look at her repulsive face sends shivers down my spine. At first, I thought she was an Israelite, for no Christian woman could be so unsightly! Yet it appears not to be so. It's a peculiar, peculiar world, dearest Prudence.
I have to conclude here. Make sure to feed the goats.
Your Lord And Master,
Archibald P. Thomas
The Year Of Our Lord 2010